“And you?” Charly asked. “What do you want to do?”
“I’ll look into Adam’s possible affair. If he had one, maybe an old friend or one of his former colleagues can tell me about it. You know where he worked, don’t you? If necessary, we could look up old bank statements, because there must be payroll records on them. As soon as I have the information, I’ll ask around. Maybe I can find his ex-lover and possibly her husband, then I can confront them both.”
“What do you think you’re going to do? Go to them and ask, ‘Hello, is it possible that one of you killed my sister?’”
Alice laughed. “I think I can be a little more subtle than that. I’ll find the lover first and try to find out if her husband even knew about the affair.”
“And if so? Will you then politely ask him to accompany you to the police?”
“You are welcome to trust me with a little more intelligence,” Alice said, insulted. “Of course, in such a case I will inform the police. If it was murder, we want to make this person pay for what he did to Imogen and Adam.”
A scream jolted Charly from her sleep. It took a moment before she realized it was she herself who had screamed.
The nightmares got worse from night to night, and she had reached the point where she was even afraid to go to bed. Charly realized then she was terribly cold. Her mouth was dry and her stomach rumbled. She took her hand from under the blanket and wiped the sweat from her face. She sat up, concentrated on her breathing, wondering what it meant. By the time she went to bed earlier in the evening she had already felt a little weak, as if a flu was approaching, but now, hours later, she felt sick. She longed to go back to sleep, hoping her body would feel a little better after a few hours of rest. When she heard a barely perceptible rustling, she flinched, staring strained into the darkness. Listened.
Nothing.
Apparently her nerves were playing tricks on her.
Exhausted, she let herself sink back onto her pillow.
She had just closed her eyes when she heard another noise. A kind of smacking, as if bare feet were moving across a smooth floor. Was that Jody? Couldn’t the girl sleep either? Startled, she jumped up, fumbling for the switch of the bedside lamp.
Nothing happened. It remained dark. Charly frowned. When she had gone to bed in the evening the thing had worked perfectly.
She was on the verge of panic.
“Jody?” she called. “Is that you, sweetie?”
There was no reply. Instead she heard a soft whisper that turned into a spiteful giggle and Charly shivered.
That doesn’t sound like Jody, shot through her head.
Instantly her heart stopped beating for a moment, only to pound like crazy against her chest shortly afterwards. Her mouth became even drier and she was dripping with sweat.
What the hell was going on in that house? Had she gone crazy? Was she suffering from hallucinations?
Steeling her nerves, she realized she had to get up and turn on the ceiling light to be able to see anything. She flipped the blanket back, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and braced herself against the fear. Then she felt a draft on her left side, heard the strange giggling again.
“Who the hell is that? I don’t find this funny. “Charly tried to make her voice sound firm and fearless.
The giggle turned into a soft laugh that seemed to come from a… girl. At least to Charly it sounded as if it could come from a child.
“Jody, if that’s you, you’re gonna get banned from TV tomorrow, as sure as I’m sitting here.”
“Jody, if that’s you, you’re going to get banned from TV tomorrow, as sure as I’m sitting here,” the voice mimicked and broke into a horrible giggle.
Charly blanched.
The voice did not sound like Jody at all.
More like…
The attack came from nowhere.
Someone yanked her back on the bed by her hair, pressed an ice cold hand over her mouth and nose.
“I died because of you two filthy pieces of shit,” the voice hissed hatefully and squeezed even harder so that Charly became dizzy. “I already got the first one, now it’s your turn.”
Another giggle.
Charly gathered all her strength and turned her head backwards so she could see who it was. She spotted a piece of light fabric flashing. A dress maybe. At the sight of the long, light hair she jolted.
That was… not real!
Her senses faded, but she couldn’t tell whether it was the iron grip of the hand on her face or the frightening situation.
This cannot be real, flashed through her mind again.
Then she slid into the endless depths of darkness.
Chapter 15
Newhaven, June 2015
“Charly, I’m hungry.”
The words wafted into her consciousness, slowly pulling her back into the here and now.
Charly straightened up, blinked dazedly, and recognized Jody standing next to her bed with her cloth bunny under her arm. The girl’s face was wet, as if she had been crying.
Charly wiped beads of sweat at her hairline with the back of her hand. Her shirt stuck wet to her body, her heart hammered hard against her ribs.
“Are you sick?” Jody asked and began to cry.
Charly shook her head. A pain, devastating and strong like a surge of electricity, shot from the back of her head, down her spine, and to her toes. She moaned, pulling herself together when she noticed Jody was shaking all over. “There’s nothing wrong with me, sweetie, I must have eaten something last night that made me nauseous.” She got up, took Jody by the hand, and walked her down the stairs to the kitchen.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“Cereal,” the girl said between sobs and climbed onto her chair.
After she had prepared the desired food for Jody, Charly put on a pot of coffee for herself. When the machine began to burble and the smell of coffee escaped, her stomach turned over. She just made it into the bathroom before she threw up. Afterwards she felt a little better. Supporting herself on the edge of the sink, she looked in the mirror, startled at the sight of her reflection. Her complexion was gray and pasty, the pores of her skin enlarged—in short—not a pretty sight.
“I already got the first one, now it’s your turn.”
Charly’s knees buckled when the memory from the previous night came over her.
She gasped for breath, fighting not to panic, and tried to comprehend what had happened. Or what she thought had happened. There had been a girl, or rather the voice of a girl. The voice had threatened her unequivocally and admitted that she had Imogen on her conscience.
The key question was: Was she just imagining it? Had it been a nightmare? One of the kind that felt so real that they managed to completely upset a person, driving them insane?
Then Charly remembered someone had grabbed her hair and covered her mouth and nose. She had lost consciousness and hadn’t woken up until hours later when Jody woke her up. But didn’t unconsciousness usually last only a few minutes? Wasn’t it more likely that she had been dreaming?
Charly picked herself up, went back into the kitchen, sat down with Jody, and tried to gather herself. When the girl was done eating, Charly suggested she watch a little TV, which Jody was more than happy to do. As the girl settled on the sofa, Charly sat, deep in thought. She had to find answers, and as fast as possible.
She ran up to the second floor, checked all the windows, and looked in the closets, praying that some gruesome photos wouldn’t show up again.
When she was done upstairs she searched the first floor, then the basement. When she was finished, she leaned exhausted against the kitchen counter. There was nothing in the house to indicate that anyone unauthorized had gained access. That meant her nocturnal experience was also merely a figment of her overworked nerves. She reached for the phone and called Alice, breathlessly describing what had happened.
“You need to see
a doctor,” Alice advised. “It’s best to go right away. Shall I find one for you??
“No, I’ll just go to Dr. Friedman, I know him from childhood. My parents were his patients.”
“Well, that’s the only right decision. You need to tell him what’s going on with you, that you need help. For Jody, you know? She been through all this before. Besides, you might have caught something from the transition. A virus or something. You have a fever?”
“I don’t think so. But I feel terribly nauseous, I sweat a lot, and I have a hell of a headache.”
“Sure sounds like a virus to me. I get those after air travel through the air conditioning in the plane.” Alice sighed. “I’m worried about you, Charly. Do you want me to come by and go with you?”
Charly felt tears coming. “You have to work,” she said in a fragile voice. Alice’s selfless offer touched and embarrassed her at the same time. “Please don’t stress about me. I’ll call the office right away and make an emergency appointment.”
“Then I’ll just come over tonight,” Alice offered. “We can have dinner together, chat, drink tea. I could make you an herbal tea from the store…”
“You don’t have to,” Charly said, touched.
“I think some company might do you some good.”
“Leave it alone, Alice,” Charly said, trying to sound firm. “You have already done so much for me… for us. I do not want to take advantage of your helpfulness. Besides, I have to figure out how to cope with everything myself. If I can’t manage to fight my way through this and be there for Jody during the six weeks of rehearsal, how am I going to manage the rest of my life?”
In the afternoon Charly felt much better. Doctor Friedman had checked her thoroughly and had come to the conclusion she had caught a virus. She had also told him about the events in the house, about the dreams, the open windows and doors, about Jody, who it looked like she had locked in the basement, and about her nocturnal visitor. He had looked at her over the edge of his glasses and advised her to contact his colleague Dr. Reid, a psychotherapist, who dealt primarily with trauma patients. Dr. Friedman was certain all these things were based on mental stress.
Charly ultimately had to realize that this was exactly what it would come down to: she had gone crazy.
The doctor had given her medication to help with the virus along with an anti-anxiety medication and sleeping aids.
After her visit to the doctor, she and Jody went to the cemetery so that the girl could place a bouquet of flowers on her parents’ graves. Afterwards, they went to the neighboring town for shopping and stopped for ice cream on the way back.
Now Jody sat in her room and painted while Charly tried to distract herself by cooking. While she peeled some potatoes for mashed potatoes, her mind wandered back to last night.
When a long blonde hair fell into the bowl, Charly slipped with the knife and cut herself in the gap between her thumb and forefinger.
“Damn it, damn it!” she cried and quickly held her hand under a jet of ice-cold water. Wrapping it in a towel, she went into the bathroom, searching the drawers for bandages.
By the time she managed to stop the bleeding, she had lost her appetite. She would have loved to throw everything into the corner and go to bed, but she had promised Jody to cook her favorite meal.
She went back into the kitchen, grabbed a potato, and was about to resume peeling when the doorbell rang.
She expected to see Alice standing at the door, but she was surprised when Jake and his son were waiting there. She invited them both in, asked Jonas if he wanted to play with Jody, then accompanied him to her room.
When she came back downstairs, Jake had made himself comfortable on a kitchen chair and was peeling potatoes. He smiled and gestured his head at the bloody paper towel lying on the countertop next to the peels, then at her bandaged hand. “You’re supposed to peel the potatoes, not yourself.”
Charly grimaced. “Until a few days ago I was only responsible for myself. Now there is Jody, so I thought it would be good to brush up on my cooking skills.” She smiled crookedly. “With moderate success, as you can see.”
Jake got serious and fixed her face. “I know exactly what you mean. When Cynthia—my wife—died, I felt the same way. From one day to the next I had to learn how to manage my child, my job, and my household on my own.”
Charly sat down with him at the table. “I’m sorry about that, Jake. I’m really sorry.”
“That was four years ago now. Ellen had cancer. They diagnosed it when she was pregnant and advised her to abort the child so they could start treatment. Ellen decided to have our child and hoped all the time that everything would go well and that she could have chemo immediately after delivery. Our son was born healthy, but the tumor—a very rare and extremely aggressive form of breast cancer—had already spread,” he said sadly. “It was too late. My wife died two days after our son’s first birthday. At that time I was about to throw everything away. I prayed to die too, but my mother pulled me out of the hole. She literally straightened my head and made me realize that I was no longer just Jacob, but the father of a child.”
“Your mother is a strong woman. You are lucky to have her.”
“She’s been through it all herself. First the death of my sister and then the separation and divorce shortly afterwards.”
“Your parents are divorced?” Charly asked, shocked.
“Yes, two years after Megan died, my father moved to London. I was 11 years old at the time and my world was falling apart. I didn’t make it easy for my mother, and moved in with my father when I was fourteen. Today, thank God, my mother and I have a good relationship again, which is of course also due to the fact that I moved back here after Ellen’s death.”
“What about your father?” Charly asked. “How is he? Isn’t he also with the police department?”
Jake’s face darkened. “Actually, I always thought he was the strong one from my parents. After Megan died, he was the one who looked ahead first. That eventually led to my mother not wanting him around anymore. He moved out, found a new love, even married again. Then one day out of the blue he shot himself in the head with his service weapon. That was six years ago. None of us, not his new wife, not his friends, not even I noticed anything. He was like always, a joker through and through, but there must have been something in him, a part of his… our past, which never let go of him and drove him to kill himself.”
Charly stared at Jake in horror. “That… that’s terrible.”
“It was. You can guess how I felt when we recovered Imogen’s shattered body. We’d finally gotten past it, then everything came back up again. That’s why I was always so… grumpy when we brought up the subject.”
Charly reached across the table for Jake’s hand and pressed it gently. “I’m sorry about what you went through with Megan, Ellen, and your dad, Jake. I’m so sorry. I really am. That’s exactly why I want to find out what was going on with Imogen. Because I don’t think Adam’s death is the only thing that changed her so much. There must be more to it than that.” She searched his face. “So if one day Jody asks me why her mother did this and just left her alone, I want to be able to give her an answer. No matter how painful it will be. And if I’m being honest, I now believe that if Imogen did jump voluntarily, there was something in her past, something dark, unknown, that drove her to do it. Something somehow connected to Megan’s death.”
Jake stared at her as if moved by thunder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that Imogen may have suffered extreme guilt over Megan’s accident. Or felt somehow responsible.” Charly shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense to me any more than it does to you. But the fact is, there are these photos that Imogen’s face was cut out of. Photos that have me and Megan in them. And then there’s the suicide no—”
“I told you about that in confidence,” Jake snapped. “I’ll be in big trouble if that gets out.”
Charly raise
d her hands defensively. “I won’t say anything about it to anyone. Not a soul, not even Alice.”
She felt a touch of a bad conscience in the face of her lie. But if Alice and she started their investigation soon, the last thing they needed was a startled cop.
She chewed uncomfortably on her lower lip. For a moment, she thought about telling Jake about last night, then she didn’t. How would she answer him about how the person got into the house? And why would someone pretend to be Megan and threaten to kill her? Charly didn’t believe in supernatural things or ghosts and was by now absolutely convinced that she had only dreamed all of it. So if she told Jake about it, he might think she was crazy, not to mention that he wouldn’t take her seriously anymore. If he had ever done so. Better to talk things over with Alice in the future and leave Jake out. They could call him in if one of her tracks actually led to something.
Charly stood up and stepped over to Jake. “My ex, Andreas, stalked and threatened me for months. He is the son of my ex-boss and after I quit my job the other day, he started to freak out.” Charly wrapped her arms around her upper body and tried to hide the tremor. “Do you think you could find out if he’s in Berlin?”
“Does he know you are in England?”
“I had to give my former boss an explanation why I needed the next few weeks off, so I assume he told Andreas.”
“Is there any indication that he is in the area?”
Charly shrugged. When she remembered the two evenings she had felt watched, she shivered. “I just want to make sure he’s not lying in wait for me somewhere.”
Jake pondered for a moment, then replied, “All right, I’ll see what I can do.”
“I thank you. Knowing would take a great weight off my shoulders.”
chapter 16
Newhaven, June 2015
I Will Break You (Best International Thrillers) Page 11